we are all alone, right from the start
by kolvina
Summary: They're both careers. Of course they're supposed to act like vicious and cruel human beings– are they even allowed to be called such a word? All their lives they've been trained to kill, to show no mercy, and to crave for blood. But somehow, she couldn't find herself to be a career. CloveCato.


**i.**

Sometimes, Clove would hold her knife tighter and sigh. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't help but to think how much she didn't deserve anything that comes to her. It makes her feel suspended in midair to know that such things are allowed to happen to her.

After all, she's just a girl. No fifteen year old could survive the horrors of the arena. She lost too much, and she loved too hard. She went on, loving the blonde boy that sits under a tree a few metres away from her. He returned the feelings, yes. But when the games came along, his love was replaced with bloodlust and malice. Nothing that she could recognize.

They're both careers. Of course they're supposed to act like vicious and cruel human beings─ are they even allowed to be called such a word? All their lives they've been trained to kill, to show no mercy, and to crave for blood. The irony taste of it on their lips, and the liquid feeling of it on their hands.

But somehow, she couldn't find herself to be career. No matter how hard she tries, she still feels the little pang of guilt whenever she stabs someone, or throws a knife in their direction. She can feel the haunting thoughts of the dead tribute's dreams and ambitions. She can feel it sticking to her hands, branding itself permanently on her soft skin.

Her fragility had never surfaced. Not once. Not even Cato could read her and ask her what is wrong, or even figure out that something is terribly wrong.

And that was when she finally realizes that she is a master of illusions.

She could fool someone like Cato without raising suspicions about what's happening to her. And she feels like she's supposed to be proud of it. But no. She feels lonelier instead.

**ii.**

The boy from twelve came. She knows that he joined the careers to protect the love of his life, who turns out to be the elusive girl tribute from his district, too. And somehow, she can see the pain he's trying to hide. The pain he's been enduring while they're on their way to absolute demise.

She has this belief that when you enter the arena, you die. It's either the physical aspect of you dies along with your soul, or it's just your soul that dies. Your soul that will come along with your heart. And she feels like she's on her way to losing both. She still craves for the little bit of thrill that washes over them when they find another pathetic tribute to finish off.

But after that; she wallows in her own self-pity.

And this time, she thinks, maybe twelve would like to join.

So that very night, when Cato is pressed against the stump of a tree with his eyes closed. Clove calls the boy from twelve. He seemed pretty distracted since it took her more than four mentions of his district number. It was the fifth time when he finally responded with a puzzled look.

"Care to talk?" She asks. Despite of her tough and vicious exterior, she's only a year younger than him. And she's probably more innocent than him. If it weren't for those sharpened blades and huge brown eyes filled with bloodlust.

The boy from twelve shrugged before stating, "Why not?" And he moves next to her.

It was a long silence. A long and a deafening one, but that was until he broke it off. "I can see the pain, you know."

And her head shot up. She looked at him like he came from another planet. Another universe. This would be the time where Clove would regret asking him to talk. She could feel the sympathy radiating from him, and she doesn't want that. To keep her sanity intact, she repeats the same words over and over inside her head, "you're a career".

"I don't need your sympathy." She breathes out, hoping that toughening up would make him chicken a little bit. "I'm a career. There's no pain to see here, twelve."

He bites his lip and stares at her. "I would like to be called Peeta. Seeing as that is my name. I don't want to go home thinking that my name is twelve." He chuckles. And what amazed her is that she did too. "If I go home, that is."

She sees no point of reassuring him that he could go home. Because she knows that there will come a time where all of them would turn their backs against each other. Stab, stab, stab. Slash, slash, slash. All those sounds are deafening. But it's the only way she could go home. Sighing, she casts a longing glance over to a sleeping Cato.

"You love him, don't you?" Peeta asks.

"I do." She answers.

**iii.**

Somehow, Clove had shared a bond with Peeta. One that involves the both of them talking about unrequited love and how it hurts. The pain that they had to endure. But when she looks into his eyes, she knows that he's way too good to experience all of this. All the hardships in something complex that they call, life.

She feels sorry for him, too. Loving someone all your life and you never got an ounce of love back in return is painful. So utterly painful to the point where you could feel yourself choking for air. Trying to reach the oxygen in the atmosphere of hurt.

He's your oxygen, you're the atmosphere. You're nothing without him.

Peeta leaves for the lake as soon as Cato slashes his thigh with a sword. She looks at him in a way where she almost feel… hurt. Cato assured her and Marvel that he would be dead any time soon. And she silently wished that Katniss would come and rescue him. If they're really in love, then she would come for him, wouldn't she?

Cato commands them to make their camp at the Cornucopia. And just then, the scrawny little boy from District 3 came stumbling upon them. He begs for mercy. He begs for Cato not to kill him. But Cato had been ignorant, so far. He's monstrous. It's as if she doesn't even know him anymore.

She puts her hand over Cato's shoulder. But not in a way where she knows it would comfort it. She tightens her grip, and he lowers his sword. "What now, Clove?"

Clove tries so hard to forget that he loved her, at least once. She has to remind herself repeatedly that he's nothing more than just a monster now. Since when did your soul become so hollow?

"Don't kill him just yet. He may be useful." She suggested. The boy casts her a curious glance, but he swallows thickly.

"I can reactivate those landmines."

And there's the devilish glint in Cato's eyes.

Later on that night, she talks to the boy. Not really caring how she presented herself in front of those cameras. She's fighting for her life, and not her public image. She could act the way she wants to and she couldn't care less about what the Capitol would think of her.

"Hey." She greets him ever so casually.

The boy returned her greeting with a confused look on his face.

"You'll be fine. I'm not going to kill you." she replies.

And that's when she realized that she's softening up. She would never thank Peeta for doing that. Ever since they both talked that night, she had so many realizations of the entire life spectrum. He made an impact on her damned life. And somehow, she didn't want that.

"Thank you for not letting him kill me." the boy from three says.

Clove sighs, and the thought of Peeta comes into mind. She sighs before echoing his words, "We all deserve to live in this arena. Even for just a little while."

**iv.**

Her death followed. The feeling of a rock slammed on to her skull repeatedly. But her emotional pain was much more difficult. She screams, Cato, Cato, Cato!

And she dies.

Such a shame that she wasn't there when Cato comes running for her limp, and lifeless body on the grass. His knees felt so weak. Weaker than the innocent boy that's hiding behind the ruthless monster. And he cries. He begs. He wants her to stay. Because it shouldn't have been her. It should have been him who died.

"Stay with me Clove, please." And the words linger on his lips. I love you.

She would have died happier if he said it in time.

But that's the thing, he's just too late.


End file.
